


tentative

by someoneplsloverobbierotten



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Color Blind Hermann, Color Blindness, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sharing Clothes, recovering from an injury, they're getting there ok, wearing each others clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 15:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someoneplsloverobbierotten/pseuds/someoneplsloverobbierotten
Summary: In the aftermath of the Breach closing, Newt and Hermann require some time to recover.Hermann turns out to need a little more time though.





	tentative

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](https://tonystarksfabulousass.tumblr.com/post/172357498742/baruyon-begrudging-post-drift-recuperation-in) fanart!

In terms of recuperation, Hermann is a little behind Newt.

The day after the Breach closed, after the two scientists had practically fallen into Hermann's bed and slept for a solid seventeen and a half hours, they'd both been shanghaied down to medical by Herc, the new acting commander of the Shatterdome.

(Tendo, the traitorous little bitch, had helped.)

They'd been poked and prodded for the better part of six hours - time that could have been spent _sleeping more_ \- at which point the doctors had declared that their brain scans had shown nothing worrying and that, considering what they'd been through, their bodies were pretty much in perfect shape too, aside from a few little things; such as Newt's cracked rib from the whole being chased by a kaiju thing, and the nosebleeds and scleral damage.

For the rib, Newt was told not to lift anything heavier than a tissue box, to take painkillers if he needs then, and to wear some wrappings for a week or so, as well as to keep an ice pack on it if anything starts to swell. (Hermann has to watch Newt visibly refrain himself from making a joke there.) The nosebleeds had stopped pretty much after they'd exited the drift, with only a couple of reoccurrences from all the running around they'd done afterwards - seventeen hours of sleep had fixed that straight up. Their eyes have to be covered with a patch in order to keep any bacteria out while the haemorrhage heals itself and to keep any blurriness they experience from all the blood in their eye from affecting their vision, which is fine for Newt, he just sticks his patch over it, puts his glasses back on, and falls over for a couple of days until he gets used to the change in depth perception.

For Hermann, it's not quite so simple.

You see, Hermann is colour-blind.

It's the reason he never became a pilot, the reason he had to simply code the jaegers instead of get inside one. And now, it's the reason he just walked into the coffee table and nearly knocked himself out.

With a sigh, Newt gets up from his desk chair and helps Hermann up, much to the other scientists displeasure.

"I'm _fine,_ Newton," Hermann insists, snatching his cane from the biologists hand and propping himself up.

Newt bites back another sigh and crosses his arms. "Dude, you nearly just brained yourself - _again,_ just, I don’t know, take it easy for a bit? Like, an _hour_ at least?"

Hermann ignores him and continues on his way - giving the table a wide berth - grumbling to himself as he heads into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Newt just rolls his eyes and sits back down at his desk.

They've lived together for almost a week and a half now, and Hermann still isn't really much better, sight-wise. Every half an hour he's either tripping over something or walking into something else. He knocks cups off the counter, thinking they're an inch away from his hand when they're actually three inches away and therefore essentially just slaps them when he tries to grab them, and watching him trying to eat has gone from being funny to being just sad. A couple of times he's nearly stabbed himself in the good eye with his spoon.

After that first night, when they'd shared a bed together, Newt had pretty much made the decision that he wasn’t gonna leave Hermann's side ever again. But like, the world had only _just_ not ended, so he'd figured he'd wait a little while until shit sorted itself out. It was a little frustrating because Hermann clearly felt the same way, his antsy little looks at Newt and the lingering effects of the drift told him that, but like, what's the rush right? He hadn't minded waiting a couple of weeks. Then when they were down in Medical, one of the doctors had pulled Newt aside for a sec and made the uh, _suggestion_ that he and Hermann should stay in close quarters, perhaps under the same roof if he can manage it, so that Newt could keep an eye on him.

(Yeah, _"keep an eye on"._ Idiots.)

He'd been a little insulted on Hermann's behalf to be honest. Yeah the guy has a cane, but like, he's managed fine on his own so far he doesn’t need a damn carer - but since moving in had been his plan anyway he'd just said, "sure dude, I'll make sure it happens," and delighted in having an excuse to move in with Hermann _now_ rather than having to wait a couple of weeks 'til shit had calmed down.

Watching Hermann nearly take himself out on the doorframe because he'd thought the doorway was four inches to his left though, makes Newt very glad the doctors had made that 'suggestion'.

Newt's patch came off last week, having gotten the all-clear from medical. Hermann didn't get the all clear, and as such, his patch remains. You see, without the use of both eyes, their depth perception is pretty crap - which is fine for Newt; his ability to see colour gives him a good visual indicator of shadows even if his main method of depth perception is compromised.

Hermann doesn't have that luxury. His whole world is shadows - just varying shades of black, grey, and lighter grey. Occasionally he gets a bit of white, which is always fun for him. With the patch on, his depth perception is just fuckin non-existent, with pretty much no depth cues available to him at all.

Without the patch it's even _worse_ for him though. All the blood from the haemorrhage still hasn’t quite cleared for either of them, so even though Newt still has a bit of blurriness in one eye now that his is off, it doesn’t matter to him too much because he can use colours and shadows to distinguish quite a lot. For Hermann it just takes all the greys and blacks and mashes them up together even more, rendering the few shadows he _can_ pick up completely indistinguishable; hence, why Hermann's patch is still on and Newt's isn't.

So yeah, it's been pretty shit for Hermann lately.

Newt gives Hermann a few minutes to calm down and attempt to buff out the dent his pride probably suffered, and then saves and closes the document he was working on.

Hermann's sat at the kitchen table when Newt walks in, a glum sight if ever there was one. He has one hand over his forehead, his elbow on the table and his body leant against it like a particularly sad looking sack of potatoes. He doesn’t look… upset, per say, like, Newton doesn't think he's going to cry (thank _god)_ but he does look incredibly fuckin' dejected, and Newton can't help but frown sadly at the sight.

There's a mug of tea by Hermann's elbow - the side of which is wet. He must've missed with the kettle again. Looking at the counter-top, Newt sees at least a spoonful's worth of sugar scattered on the side and bites his lip.

"How's uh, how's your knee?" He asks, sliding into the chair opposite Hermann. Normally he would never ask something like that, years of having his head fuckin' bitten off if he even so much as _looked_ at Hermann's leg, but this time he can, because the _thwack_ he'd heard earlier had been from Hermann's _good_ leg hitting the table, not his bad one. Most people probably wouldn't call that a blessing - especially not Hermann - but Newt's always taken a unique view on silver linings.

"It's fine," Hermann mutters, still not moving his hand away from his face.

Newt forces himself not to roll his eyes. "Is it though?" he asks, trying to keep his tone nice and not patronising. It kind of works.

Hermann snorts and finally lowers his hand. "If you _must_ know, it feels rather like shit," he says.

"Bet you the coffee table feels worse," Newt tells him.

"I would beg to differ."

Newt just shrugs and gets up from the table again. "Eh, you'll have to take that up with the table then I guess." He goes over to the fridge and pulls out a gel-pack, one of the ones Medical had given for his rib, and hands it to Hermann, who takes it without a word and without making eye contact. Newt doesn't make a fuss, instead he grabs a dishcloth from the sink and picks up Hermann's mug, wiping down the side of it before rubbing away the water-ring it left.

Hermann watches him with a grimace that Newt ignores. Yeah fuck it, he's drawing attention to Hermann's 'mistake' or whatever, but he'd rather have Hermann make a face at him now than flip his shit an hour or so later because there’s a dried tea-ring staining the wood.

He chucks the cloth mostly into the sink - totally because his own depth perception isn’t 100% up to scratch and not because even with full sight Newt can’t aim for shit - and sits back down again, while Hermann stares sullenly into his tea. Honestly, he's such a _sulker._ Newt really shouldn't find it as endearing as he does.

Then again, it's pretty hard _not_ to find it endearing when the guy you've maybe kind of definitely had a pretty damn big crush on for the past twelve years is sat in front of you with an adorably messily made cup of tea, with a patch over one eye and wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama pants and one of your old Godzilla shirts, having a proper _sulk_ about nearly taking himself out with a coffee table about eight minutes prior.

Yeah, Newt's got it _bad._

So bad, in fact, that he gets up from his chair - again - and pulls it around to Hermann's side plopping down next to him and leaning his head on Hermann's shoulder.

"So," says Newt, casual as you please. "When did you steal my shirt."

"I ah, appear to have… mislaid the shirt that matches these pyjama pants during the move here," Hermann says. Newt doesn't have to look up to know Hermann's face has just gone bright red.

"Mhmm," Newt hums, totally not rubbing his face into the fabric of his stolen shirt. Hermann is a fuckin' liar. Then again, so is Newt. Hermann's favourite old-man cardigan keeps getting moved because Newt's been wearing it around the house when he's not there, not because he keeps _tidying things,_ come on Hermann. "Sure," he says. Newt's sure Hermann's face is _burning_ by now.

He sees Hermann's hands take hold of the mug and slowly lift it up. With his head on Hermann's shoulder, he feels Hermann take a sip, and feels him swallow. Newt congratulates him on actually getting the tea in his mouth, instead of missing and pouring it down himself like last Wednesday, but like, in his head. Hermann would probably beat him to death with his cane if Newt said that aloud.

"Keep it," Newt says, and Hermann nearly chokes. "It looks better on you anyway."

"I- I'm-" Hermann splutters.

"Plus," Newt shrugs, "your stupid noodle arms'll probably stretch it out anyway." (Noodle-arms Newt's _ass._ He's had _dreams_ about those arms.)

"It- it's a _sleeveless_ shirt," Hermann points out, baffled.

Newt ignores him.

"You should apologise to the coffee table, by the way," he tells Hermann instead. "Or you never know, dude, next time it might hit you back."

"I think you'll find," Hermann replies dryly, "that it already has."

Newt snorts and peels his head away from Hermann's shoulder - which is, an effort. He should be awarded something - and steals the mug right out of the mathematician's hands, much to Herman's displeasure.

Newt downs half of it in one gulp - not enough milk, not enough sugar; not coffee - and sets it back in Hermann's outrage-frozen hands.

When Hermann's brain catches up on what's just happened and he has a grip on it again, Newt lets go.

"You should steal my shit more often," Newt muses. "Uh- borrow, I mean, borrow."

Hermann narrows his eyes at him. "Why on _earth_ would I-"

"You're wearing my shirt dude," Newt points out, "clearly theres _some_ sort of appeal for you."

Hermann goes red again, and this time Newt gets to see it. He grins. Hermann's _adorable._

"I'm just sayin, man," he puts his palms up all non-hostile like and settles his head back down on Hermann's shoulder. "S'all yours." He's comfy here, on Hermann's shoulder. It's warm - unlike most of Hermann's limbs. The man is a thermic enigma.

"Have whatever you want Herms," he says, closing his eyes. It's really far too early to be awake still. He only got up in the first place because he thought of a finishing paragraph for that paper. "I don't mind."

He feels a tentative hand on his thigh and he smiles. "Just don't stretch out anything I really like," he murmurs.

As he drifts off, Hermann's thumb starts rubbing gentle circles on his thigh.

"Don't worry Newton," Hermann says softly, "I won't."


End file.
